Captive
by Grissom
Summary: --Complete-- Grissom is taken captive by a drug addict. It is up to Sara and Brass to find him before it is too late.


**Title: Captive**

**Author: "Grissom"**

**Archiving: Well...sure. Just ask first and let me know where you want to put them.**

**8-26-04**

**A/N: I'm poking my head out of the hole! As usual, a big thank-you must go out to my good friend and beta, Grissomgal71. I promise, Jamie, if I ever get a hold of a certain CSI, I'll share! It just may be 70:30, but still!**

Grissom yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. He pulled his glasses from his face, then leaned back in his chair as he rubbed his eyes. He'd been doing paperwork for almost four hours straight, missing out on what had promised to be some interesting cases. He liked to curse Atwater and whoever decided that paperwork should be an essential part of a supervisor's job, but he knew the majority was his fault. He'd been putting it off all week, and only a friendly reminder from Atwater made him realize just how far behind he really was.

He sighed, then leaned forward to sign his name for what felt like the millionth time. He stared at the scribbled letters for a moment, then leaned his elbows on the desk, resting his face in his hands. Groaning, he leaned forward so his hands were behind his head, gently kneading the sore muscles of his neck.

A glass 'chink' close to his ear startled him and he fumbled back to an upright position. His eyes went from the steaming coffee cup to the familiar gap-toothed smile. He cocked an eyebrow, shooting the intruder a questioning gaze.

"Figured you'd need some fuel. And it's not the motor oil that's usually in the break room either. We held Greg hostage and raided his lab for the Blue Hawaiian stuff," Sara told him, a mischievous grin on her face.

"Who is 'we'?" Grissom asked, a smile on his own face as he sipped the coffee. Compared to the usual gunk, this stuff was great, and he gave Sara an appreciative nod.

"Well...me and Nick. The guys from days used up all of the coffee in the break room and didn't think to get another bag. We were desperate."

"Where's Greg?"

"Pouting in his lab."

Grissom's smile deepened, but there was something to it that didn't seem right to Sara. "Well, as much as I appreciated the coffee, I'm afraid you can't go around beating up lab techs. As punishment, Greg will accompany you on your next case. After that, he'll job shadow Nick."

Sara's grin faded for a moment, until she saw the impish glint in Grissom's eyes as he continued to sip the coffee. Normally he wouldn't have joked with her like that, nor would she have bothered to even bring him coffee. But after her almost-DUI, they'd been able to joke and laugh again. While they weren't back to where they had started with their friendship, they were well on their way.

She gave him one last smile, then turned the corner and made her way back to the break room. She had a hot case to work on; it was going to take a while.

————————————————————————

Grissom yawned loudly, not even bothering to cover his mouth this time. If anyone took offense at seeing his mouth wide-open, they could just suck it up. He didn't really care anymore. It was two hours after Sara's entrance with coffee, and he had finally finished all of the paperwork. He'd signed his name so many times, it had begun to look foreign to him. He couldn't explain why, but after writing the same thing time after time, he began to question his spelling.

He glanced up at the clock, surprised to see that it was seven in the morning. The rest of graveyard had already left, or were on their way out. He was a little disappointed that no one had come to tell him good-bye, but knew there was nothing he could do about it. He wasn't exactly "Mr. Friendly", at the top of everyone's social list.

He shoved a few stray papers into his battered old briefcase, snapping it shut in one quick movement. He'd had the thing for so long that it was beginning to fall apart. But he just couldn't bring himself to get a new one.

He reached to grab another paper from off the desk, then paused to take a look at it. He groaned when he realized what it was. It was a notice from his pharmacy. The 'Automatic Refill' of his migraine medication had been filled and was ready for him to pick up. If not picked up by a certain date --which just happened to be the next day—it would be discarded and he wouldn't be able to get it. He almost got a migraine just thinking about what a month without his medicine would be like. Cursing under his breath, he shoved the notice into his pocket and grabbed his car keys. He stepped up to his door, double-checked everything, then shut the lights.

He idly pulled the paper back out of his pocket and re-read it as he walked down the halls. He glanced up as he passed the break room, and was surprised to see Sara sitting on one of the couches. He slowed, then made the split-second decision to go inside.

She looked up from her file when he stepped in front of her, her face a mixture of determination and frustration.

"I just can't seem to figure out what killed the guy. Doc says it was a blunt object used to stab the vic, but nothing in these crime scene photos seems to match. The neighbor says he scared the guy, so he wouldn't have had time to hide it. And he claims there was nothing in his hand when he ran off."

"Well...witnesses don't always make the best evidence, Sara."

"I know, Gris. It'd be a lot easier if the guy just turned himself in."

Grissom smiled. "Dare to dream," he said, then turned and walked out. He fumbled in his pocket for his car keys, dropping paper clips, change, and scraps of paper all over the pavement as he did. He looked down at the mess, and shook his head. "Not my day," he said to himself as he got into the vehicle.

Normally, the drive from the lab to his house would only have taken a few minutes, but he had to make a few pit stops along the way. He had to get some gas, and stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few items that he needed for his supper. He'd found a new recipe for lemon chicken on the internet, and was anxious to try it out.

He tossed all of the grocery bags into the passenger's seat, then made his way to the pharmacy. Lucky for him, they opened at seven, so he wouldn't have to worry about waiting or coming back later. He pulled up into the closest space in the nearly deserted parking lot and began walking to the doors. He caught a glimpse of a man sitting on a bench, fidgeting nervously, but gave it no thought.

He walked to the back of the store, and up to the pharmacy. The girl behind the counter smiled at him.

"How're we doing today, Mr. Grissom?" she asked, already reaching behind her for the 'G-I' box.

"Tired, as usual," he replied, watching as she went through the bags until she found his. She flashed him another smile, then slid it across the counter to him. He raised an eyebrow, but reached for the pen to sign a paper. The same girl had been working behind the counter for more than a year, and recognized him before he could even say his name. At times, she recognized his car and had his medicine already out, if she wasn't busy. Grissom found it half-disgusting and half-amusing. It was a very odd combination.

He had just finished signing his name when he heard an all-too familiar 'click'. The color draining from his face, he slowly began to turn towards the sound.

The man he had seen on the bench earlier was standing behind him, a late-model revolver in his shaking hand. At the moment, he had it aimed at Grissom's head.

"Get down on the floor," he said, too calmly. Grissom lifted his hands to show that he was no threat, then slowly sank to the floor, his knees protesting painfully. At first he settled on his knees, but a motion from the gun told him that the gunman wanted him to lie down, which he did.

After making sure that Grissom was no threat, the man turned the gun to the girl. "I want you to go to the back, get some Valium, and some Dionixx. All of it. Bring it up here, or you're dead. You hear me?"

The girl nodded slowly, then began backing away to the shelves behind her. Grissom's mind was whirling. _Dionixx? What the heck was that?_ Then he remembered. Dionixx was a powerful pain killer prescribed for some cancer patients. It was _very_ powerful and very addictive. Taking in the man's sunken demeanor, Grissom decided that he was, in fact, an addict. A dangerous addict, with a gun.

The man glanced down at Grissom, who quickly averted his gaze. A swift kick to the ribs made the entomologist let out a cry. "What're you lookin' at?" the gunman asked gruffly. He stared down at Grissom for a moment, who was busy trying to recover his lost breath, then looked back towards the pharmacy.

The girl returned from behind the shelves with an armful of bottles, dumping them onto the counter. The gunman picked up a few of the bottles, opening one to make sure it was what he was looking for. He nodded his approval, then pointed the gun back to the girl.

He pointed his finger at more bottles on the shelves. "Give me some of that!" he demanded, the twisted power he possessed going to his head. If he could get this kind of drug, what was to prevent him from getting other stuff as well?

The girl did as she was told, then put all of the medication into a bag when he demanded it. She shakily handed the bag to him, then screamed when he fired a shot into the ceiling. She ducked behind the counter, covering her ears with her hands.

The gunman made to leave, then stopped as if remembering something. He bent down and grabbed the back of Grissom's shirt, putting the gun to his temple. "Get up," he demanded, and Grissom complied, his teeth clenched. "You're going to take me outta here," the gunman said quietly.

The man forced Grissom out of the door, then paused. "Where's your ride?" he asked, scanning the desolate parking lot. "That it?" he asked, motioning to the SUV. Grissom nodded, feeling the cold metal of the gun as it rubbed against his skin.

"Move!" The gunman roughly shoved Grissom to the SUV, opening the back door while keeping the gun trained on the criminalist. "Get in," he said, waving the gun for emphasis.

Knowing better than to try to talk his way out or to make a break for it, Grissom obeyed, getting into the driver's seat and starting the vehicle. The gunman motioned with his gun to head towards an intersection. "Hit the highway. We goin' downtown."

————————————————————————

Sara yawned as she glanced up at the clock. After studying it for a moment, she slammed the file shut, shoving it across the table. That was it. She'd worked on that case for long enough. She'd just have to pick it up again next shift. Hopefully, a few hours of sleep would rejuvenate her, and she could look at the case with new eyes.

She was in the process of packing up all of her things when a flurry of movement in the hall caught her attention. Jim Brass was storming down the hall, a perplexed expression on his face. He was studying a piece of paper, barking orders at any random person who crossed his path. Sara made her way to the door of the break room, then leaned against it, studying Brass.

He shouted another order at a lieutenant, and then turned. He saw Sara, and froze, his face a mixture of anger and worry. He worked his mouth a few times, then sighed.

Sara could tell that something was very wrong. It wasn't like Brass to act like that. "Brass? What is it?" she asked gently.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "You'd better come with me."

————————————————————————

"Forty-four bottles of beer. Take one down, pass it around. Forty-three bottles of beer on the wall," Grissom sang quietly to himself. "Forty-three bottles...oh forget it."

He glanced at his rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of the two men in the back, who were talking in hushed voices. The gunman had forced Grissom to drive to a less friendly part of town, then made him pull over at a ramshackle house. Once parked, the man had shouted out the window for 'Jerome' to come out and see. 'Jerome' had come out, and they'd retreated to the back of the SUV to discuss something, making sure to remind Grissom that there was still a gun in the car.

Grissom tapped his hands on the steering wheel, nervously glancing at his cell phone every now and then. If he tried to call someone, the gunman and his crony would hear it, and he'd be dead for sure. But what if someone called him? Would he be allowed to answer it, or would he be killed? Grissom really didn't want to know the answer.

For a long moment, he stared at the road ahead. The seriousness of his situation seemed to have sunk in at last. He was being held captive in his own car with a madman. Even if he did everything he was told, he could still be killed. And if he refused, he'd be dead for sure. These thoughts running through his head, Grissom absently gripped the steering wheel until his hands hurt and knuckles were white.

"What do you mean you can't help me?" someone suddenly shouted from the back, startling Grissom. "I go out of my way to get this stuff for you, and you ain't gonna help me when the cops show up?"

"This is different, Jer. You ain't never kidnapped anyone before. This goes far beyond theft. _This_ is out of my control. Best you can do is to get out of my turf. I don't want the cops sniffin' around here."

"Man, I don't believe this!" the gunman shouted. "All the shit I've done for you?"

"Just stay away from here until the coast clears. Hear?" 'Jerome' said, climbing out of the car.

"Yeah, I hear ya," the gunman said, shutting the door behind him. He sighed heavily, then kicked the inside of the door. He snorted, then glanced up at the front of the car, catching Grissom looking through the rearview mirror before he could avert his eyes.

"Eyes forward, man," he said, lashing out with the gun. It connected with the back of Grissom's head, sending his face into the steering wheel before he could react. The car horn honked, startling a few of the people sitting on stoops.

Grissom leaned back against the seat, his hands going to his face. He rubbed his jaw a few times, then spit out the coppery liquid that was filling his mouth. He wasn't surprised when he saw blood splatter the dashboard in front of him. No doubt he had a busted lip.

"That'll show ya," his passenger said, putting the gun back to the side of Grissom's head. "That way," he commanded.

————————————————————————

For a long time, Sara could only stare blankly at the scene in front of her. A dozen police cars and an ambulance filled the small parking lot of the pharmacy. A few day shift CSI's were hitting the pavement, scouring the scene for any clues as to what had happened.

She gazed closer at the ambulance, watching as Brass talked to a young woman. The woman was shaking, and had her arms wrapped around her body. She preferred to look at the ground, but did look up and point towards a red light. Brass nodded, then patted the girl's shoulder. He closed his notebook, then made his way back to Sara.

"The girl says Grissom came in to pick up his migraine medicine, just like he does every month. He was paying for it when, quote, 'a madman with a gun came in and started shouting'. Says that he forced Gris to get on the ground, then made her give him a few bottles of prescription painkillers. Then, he made Gris get up and go to his car, where they drove off."

"And we have no idea where they went?" Sara asked quietly, still absorbing the shock of it all.

Brass sighed. "She said they went _that way_," he said, pointing at the nearest intersection. "That was all she saw before she went for the phone."

"Do you have a description?"

"Yeah," Brass replied, flipping his notebook back open. "Black male, 'bout six one. Twenty to thirty years old. White t-shirt, blue jeans." He shut the book. "Sounds like thirty percent of the population."

Sara sighed deeply, running a hand through her hair. Her thoughts were still jumbled; her brain was still trying to piece together the puzzle. She tried to focus on the problem, but kept thinking of Grissom. What was going to happen to him? Would she ever see him again? She shuddered a bit, turning away from Brass to hide it. She couldn't let him know how much this was truly affecting her. Truth was, she wanted to either cry or hit something, maybe both at once.

She was quiet for a moment, then realized she was idly playing with the buttons on her cell phone.

"Have you tried calling him?"

"We didn't think that was smart. Who knows how the guy will react?"

"Maybe we can try a call. A...preemptive call, before the negotiators call. Maybe he'll let Grissom talk to a family member. Maybe I can get a location or some clues out of him."

Brass caught Sara's accidental 'I', and smirked. He knew what she was getting at. He glanced at the gaggle of police and nodded. "Sure. But we don't know what's going to happen..." he warned, not too privy on taking a risk with his best friend's life.

"But we've got to do something," Sara replied softly.

————————————————————————

Grissom felt the sweat roll down his face, even though the temperature in the SUV itself was rather cool. The gunman, whose name was Jeremy, had made him drive across town. They were now in an empty parking lot, facing towards the south. Jeremy seemed to be contemplating an escape from Vegas, perhaps even Nevada. He knew that he had made a major mistake in forcing Grissom into the SUV, but he had no way to rectify his mistake without hanging himself in the process.

Grissom's thoughts were now turning to his friends, his fellow CSI's. If he died, would they ever know how much they all really meant to him? Did Catherine know she was like a sister, who was almost always there for him with a witty remark? Would Nick know that he was proud of him, no matter what? Did Warrick know how much of himself he saw in him? Would Greg know that he was actually a pretty okay guy in his eyes, when he wasn't driving him crazy? Sara...

Grissom closed his eyes at the thought of Sara. After messing up with her for so long, they had finally been on the way to recovering their lost friendship. If he didn't make it out here, how would she think of him? As a friend, or as the cold supervisor he had become? It hurt to think that she might still think of him as the detached man he had been after his surgery...

Both Grissom and Jeremy were still lost in thought when Grissom's cell phone began to ring. It made Jeremy jump, and Grissom tensed, half expecting a bullet to shatter his skull. But the shot never came. Instead, Jeremy leaned over the console, making a face as he peered at the phone.

"Who's that?" he demanded, putting the gun back to Grissom's head.

Grissom reached down slowly and shakily picked up the phone. _Sara_, he thought. _Why the hell is she calling me now?_ He turned the phone so that Jeremy could see the number. "It's...my wife."

"Let it ring," Jeremy said.

"I'd better answer it. I always do. If I don't, she'll get worried and call the cops. She's like that," Grissom said, thinking quickly.

He could see the gears in Jeremy's brain turn. He knew the desperate man was weighing his options. He could let his hostage answer the phone, risking a slip of the tongue, yet it may satisfy the wife enough not to cause suspicion. Or he could refuse to let his captive answer the phone, eliminating the risk of Grissom telling his wife what was going on, yet make the wife worried.

Finally he made a gesture with the gun. "Answer it." He pointed the gun back at Grissom. "One slip, man, and you're dead."

Grissom nodded slowly, flipping his phone open.

"Grissom? Grissom, are you there?" Sara's voice said, sounding worried. "What's going on?"

Grissom winced inwardly. "Oh, hi honey," he said, emphasizing his speech in hopes that she would catch on. "You need something?"

"Where are you?" she asked, toning down the desperation in her voice.

"Shopping. You need anything while I'm out?" He lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow.

At the pharmacy, Sara glanced nervously at Brass. He nodded for her to continue. "Yeah. Where are you?"

"Oh..." Grissom winced when Jeremy jabbed the gun into his temple as a warning. He did a quick glance around his surroundings. "I'm driving on E5 right now. I think I'll stop and grab a bite to eat at the Enterprise Diner. Looks a lot better than the Burger King next to it, or the Subway on the other side."

Sara made a face at Grissom's words. He wasn't making much sense. "Okay. That sounds fine. See you later?"

Grissom closed his eyes, fighting against the emotions that threatened to overcome him. "Sure will, honey. I'll talk to you later. Love you," he said quickly, then hung up before Sara could say another word.

————————————————————————

"Grissom? Gris?" Sara called desperately into her cell phone. Finally she sighed and snapped it shut. "He's gone."

Brass shook his head. "What did he say?" he asked.

Sara frowned. "Said he's driving on the E5, and was going to stop at an Enterprise Diner."

Brass' features lightened a bit. "You think he's telling us where he is?"

Another police officer snorted. "Can't be. I've been working this town for twenty years. Trust me, there's no such place as Enterprise Diner. Not in this Vegas. There's a theater, but no diner."

"And there's no 'E5' road or highway either," another officer added, running a finger through his mustache.

Sara frowned, then forced her tired mind to work. _Think like Grissom...think like Grissom..._she told herself over and over. She idly glanced towards her SUV, then it hit her. She bolted towards her truck, startling all three cops around her. Brass made as if to hold her back, but stopped, realizing that it could result in a busted nose.

Sara ran to her SUV and flung the door open. She pulled open the glove box and dug through it for a moment. "Ah ha!" she exclaimed a moment later, pulling something out. She rushed back over to the cops, then kneeled on the ground, laying the piece of paper out on the concrete.

One of the cops made a face. "You don't need a map, lady. I already told you, those places don't exist."

Sara ignored him, smoothing the paper. "Every CSI is given one of these maps, right?" Brass nodded. "Well, Grissom must know his by heart; he always beats us to the crime scenes, even when we're closer." She ran a finger along the top of the map, along the letters used to locate buildings. "What if 'E5' isn't a made-up road? What if it's a coordinate on the map?" She found the 'E', then slid her finger down to the '5'. She looked up at the cops with a grin. "There you go. 'E5'."

Brass smiled, but the other cops didn't seem so impressed. "That's a whole city block. We can't search all that and not tip off the psycho!"

"Enterprise Diner..." Sara said softly to herself. She looked at the top of the map, where the names of many buildings were listed, along with their coordinates. "Enterprise Theater?" she read, then looked at the coordinates. "Look! There is no such thing as Enterprise Diner, but there is a theater. And look where it is. 'E5'," she said with a smile. Suddenly it felt like Grissom was finally within their reach.

"And there's a diner on the street next to it," Brass pointed out.

"He said something about a Burger King and Subway," Sara said, her eyes scouring the map's tiny print. Here," she said, pointing to the small squares. "They're on the street opposite the diner. So...that means Grissom is probably facing the theater." She pulled a pen out of Brass' shirt pocket and scribbled a circle in the corner of 'E5'. "_That's_ where they are," she said proudly.

The mustached cop looked up and allowed her a small grin. "Let's go get our guy."

————————————————————————

Grissom's gaze went to the grocery bags sitting on the seat next to him. He glanced at the rearview mirror quickly, seeing the gunman was sitting back against the seat, though the gun was still in his hands. He'd stopped harassing Grissom, but was now mumbling incoherently under his breath.

Grissom looked at the grocery bags again, then moved his hands slowly towards them. He managed to touch one of them, but the crinkle of the plastic alerted the gunman to his actions.

He leaned forward immediately, pushing the gun barrel painfully against Grissom's head. Grissom closed his eyes. "What are you doing?" Jeremy shouted, the veins on his neck sticking out.

Grissom put his hand into the air. "I was trying to get something out of my bag. I'm diabetic," he lied. "I need to have something to eat soon or else..." he trailed off, letting the gunman's imagination go to work. Grissom felt the pressure against his head slack a bit and allowed himself to breathe again.

"Yeah," Jeremy said quietly, almost to himself. "You get it, but I'm watching you," he warned, leaning back over the console to prove it.

Grissom nodded slowly, reaching back towards the bag. He dug into it, pulling out the bottle of lemon juice he'd bought for his dinner. He set it in his lap to get it out of the way, then continued to dig until he found the box of breakfast bars. He opened it slowly and pulled one out. Jeremy's hand then darted out to grab the box.

Jeremy was digging through the rest of the groceries when he noticed the prescription bag sitting in the drink holder. It had been in Grissom's hand when he had been forced into the car, and had been forgotten since.

"What's in here?" he asked, snatching the bag. He leaned back and ripped it open, pulling out the bottle. "What's this?" he asked, more curious than demanding.

"My migraine medication," Grissom answered blandly.

"Migraine medication?" Jeremy mocked. "People get medicines for anything these days." He twisted open the bottle, spilling out a couple of the pills. He studied them for a moment, then popped them into his mouth.

Grissom watched, almost allowing a smile to cross his lips. The migraine medicine always made him sleepy and sluggish, and he was bigger than his captor. Who knew what the high dosage would do to Jeremy?

Half an hour later, Jeremy was leaning back in the seat, his eyes closed. At first Grissom thought he had fallen asleep, but his eyes had popped open immediately when Grissom accidentally knocked over the grocery bag, spilling some cans of vegetables onto the floor.

They'd been sitting in the same spot for almost an hour now, with no indication that they were going to go anywhere else. Jeremy had simply instructed Grissom to put the car in park and sit there while he tried to think. He'd been given no extra 'orders' since then.

Grissom was growing nervous. He couldn't leave the car without getting shot, and he couldn't drive anywhere else without getting shot. He was also sure he couldn't make a call; Jeremy would hear him and put an end to it. At first, Grissom had wondered it the gun were actually loaded, then he'd watched as Jeremy played with the bullets, pulling one out and looking at it. He'd then proceeded to ask Grissom what he thought it would look like after it crushed his skull and turned his brain to mush.

Grissom stared at the dashboard for a moment, seeing the gas needle was now in the middle. He stared at it blankly for a moment, then looked down in his lap. He picked up the green bottle of lemon juice for a moment, studying the ingredients idly. Then he got an idea.

As quietly as he could, he twisted the top off the bottle, peeling away the protective plastic beneath. He stared into the dark bottle for a moment, then tried to calm his pounding heart. He was going to try something...and he knew he only had one chance at it. He reached under the passenger's seat as quietly as he could, pulling out an old coffee mug that had been tossed down there. He recognized it as Nick's, probably from one of the cases they'd worked. He made a mental note to thank Nick for his messy habits if he survived the day and saw his fellow CSI's again. That thought gave him resolution. He _would_ see his friends again.

Slowly, he poured some of the lemon juice into the mug, filling it almost to the top. He set the bottle down, then reached to the door to unlock it.

Jeremy's eyes snapped open at the sound of the lock moving. "What the hell?" he said, sitting up sluggishly and bringing his gun with him. With a primal cry, Grissom flung the contents of the coffee mug into Jeremy's face.

Jeremy screamed, clawing at his eyes with his free hand, while the other swung the gun around, pulling the trigger wildly. Grissom swore he felt one of the bullets fly past his face as he struggled to open the door. A few more shots rang out, and something moist and thick flew into his face. Nearly panicking, he managed to get the door open and spilled out, not even bothering to get his feet under him. He hit the ground hard, then scrambled to his feet, making a break for the nearest building.

He was only about ten feet from his SUV when he saw a group of cops run out from behind a building, guns at the ready. A police cruiser, sirens blaring, pulled up into the parking lot, directly in front of Grissom. A small group of people got out, but his head was spinning far too much to recognize any of them.

He collapsed to the ground, catching a glimpse of a police sniper on a rooftop, signaling that his shot had made a hit. It was then that Grissom realized just what had happened. His very vague clues to Sara had panned out, and the police had staked out the car, just waiting for an opportunity to end the conflict. When Grissom had acted in the car and went for the door, it gave the sniper a clear shot at Jeremy's head. Grissom then realized just what it was that hit him in the face, and began vigorously rubbing it on his sleeve, trying to get most of the blood and brain matter off.

He vaguely felt himself being pulled to his feet, and felt someone else wiping his face. They were able to get the gunk out of his eyes, and he opened them to see Brass standing in front of him. He'd never seen his friend look so worried, yet relieved.

"You gave us all a big scare, Grissom," was all Jim could think to say. He was a man of few words; the look on his face showed his immense relief. Grissom managed a smile, clapping Brass on the back.

He looked up again, noticing another person standing in front of the cruiser. It was Sara. She stared at him, and he could see the unshed tears in her eyes. She gave him a small smile, then wiped her face with a hand. Grissom glanced at Brass, then took a few unsteady steps towards her.

"Sara," he said softly. At the moment, he didn't think he had seen anything more beautiful in his life. See Sara after he'd almost given up hope... He didn't know what to say. _How do you thank someone for saving your life?_

He didn't have to figure out what to say. Before he could say or do anything, Sara had thrown herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. She all but buried her face in his chest, threatening to squeeze the air from his lungs.

After the initial shock of her action, Grissom found himself wrapping his own arms around her in return, leaning down a bit to rest his face on her shoulder. The weight of what had happened fully hit him then, and he couldn't stop the tears from coming.

All Sara could do was hold onto him. "It's okay, Grissom. I promise, things will be okay. I'm here for you."

Brass and the other officers watched the two CSI's for a moment. One officer made to step between and direct Grissom to the ambulance, but Brass pulled him back.

"Let them be. That's the best medicine the man can get right now."

END


End file.
